Morris tribune. [volume] (Morris, Minn.) 1880-2000, 1887-01-26
HIS FAILURE,
A STORY.

STORY.
"Poor Richard Realfl / know how
every hope died within his soul"
He pushed back the heap of manu-.
script before him, as he said this, and,
resting his weary head on his hand,
sat looking out upon the street.
He was "born unto singing" but to-
day he could not utter what heaven
had hreathed into his soul, for the
burthen lay soreIy upon him. Lately
1t had been so, that when the heart
chords were swept by the unseen mas
ter hand, and his soul essayed to sing
the refrain, the mellow measures
trembled forth, only to falter before
the unappreciative, and the golden
notes died amid the ieers of the cow
ardly creatures of spite.
Long he sat at his desk, consulting
his over burdened heart. Should he
go on and be buffeted by ridicule long
er? He did not know; it seemed to be
his duty to row against the tide, but
oh! it was hard. Some, he was aware,
counted it strengthening to genius, to
| battle and endure, and he envied them.
He believed he could battle and do
bravely-but not alone; he was afraid
he had not the vim to Withstand the
contrary currents. Those who should
have held up his hands by words OF
encouragement stood aloft and looked
Oh with unconcern. Others who might
have made his world of thought to
bud and bloom, passed by on the
other side with upIifted eyes, not
meaning to waste their high might
ness on struggling aspirant, and there
were none to lend helping hand.
All! yes; he would give it up, and
write the word failure above the prob
lem of his mission, and leave it I'M
solved. 1t would be hard task GER
talnly, to say to the sweet well-spring
of song within, "thus far, and no far.
ther," but it would be harder still TO
have its crystal waters lose their puri,
they must flow.
Yes; he would wall in this beautiful
summer sea, and grow careless and
passionIess and send his supersensi-
tive soult to school to the cynical prosa-
ic. He would slip down from the
round of the ladder to which he had
chung in desperation; slip down to the
darkness OF the monotOnous levels.
No one would disturb him there;
and he believed he must be one of those
who run well for a season only; no
matter, he would try and forget that
the rose-wreathed gates of the glorious
land of song were ever ajar for him.
Why should he remember?
He pushed the inoffending manu-
script, which some busy editor had
declined" into the open drawer, shut
it away from his weary sight, and
turned the key in the lock savagely.
Thus he flung the gauntlet into the
faces of THE Nine" who turned
aside from their chosen singer with
mute sorrow. He fancied now, that
the tide of his summer sea would new
err rise again; but, there was an inhu-
ence, destined to bear upon his dead
sea world, and say to the ALBANIAN
tine shores, BE thou cleft" That lit,
tie "rift within the Iute' was soon %
be mended and the music was once
more to throb forth in its enhancing
sweetness.
Again he sat at his desk, and the
manuscript lay before him; but this
time the sunshine streamed over all;
the fairy rainbows OF happy promise
spanned each well-written line, and the
songs he was born to sing were swell
ing in the deep sea tide with an echo
Sweeter than ever dreamed of. What
had wrought this magic transforma-
ton?
All! the glorious sunlight OF appre-
ciative kindness had broken through
the sullen canopy suddenly, and iIlu-
mined his dreary way; the helping
hand had been reached out to him,
and had touched those long-silent
chords; and they had given back a
symphony, sweet as the bells OF
Heaven. His doubts that had made
him lose the good he might have won,
were being swept aside by that helping
hand he had never seen her, but in his
thankfulaess he allowed she must be
the one good angel sent to cancel his
failure, and help him work out the
problem of his mission. A letter lay
on his desk, in which she said: II rec
ognize the happy fact that you are a
poet from the perusal of your poems,
which have read; your lines contain
much merit; please continue and Twill
help you"
Blessed words! 81 will help you"
They brought heaven nearer than it
had been for many weary years; he
could have fallen down at her feet, and
worshiped her for her timely inspira-
ton, but that was impossible, he
would do better, however; he would
continue, and thereby show his graft
tude, by doing his best. She had not
given her address, and the post mark
was too dim to be legible, so he had
no idea from which direction his help
was coming no matter, if she had
seen his poems in the past she would
be watching for them in the future.
A year went by and he found his
powers of song developing, and he be-
gan to look forward to the bright fields
of the promised good once more. The
dreams of his youth came back now
for realization.
The helping hand was with him still.
"Up, up the heights" she said; "press
right on and never falter and will
help YOU" Of the name OF his men
tor he was not altogether certain; of
her residence he was yet ignorant, but
with her heart he was well acquaint-
ed, and he had known for months that
the kinship OF his soul rested with her,
whoever she might be.
Did he realize how much he depended |
on this unseen friend? What if he, by
some stroke of fortune, should he sep
arated from her, and be obliged to go
his way alone?
He shuddered to think of it. But |
what allied him; he was becoming in
fatuated with the.free, easy handwrit-
ing of woman he had never seen? |
That sounded little foolish, some
L h., HoE